


After The End

by Snake (Fatality145)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:47:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatality145/pseuds/Snake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ME3 - Shepard wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The End

The amount of times he had woken up in a half-asleep delirium was quickly becoming innumerable, opening his bloodshot eyes for a fraction of a second before he would be lulled back to sleep by the many tubes needled into his battered skin, pumping him with medication and supplements and morphine.

 

He had been laying in an induced coma for how many weeks, body forcefully shutdown to let him recover, and each time he woke up he had no idea where he was or who he was, blissfully ignorant of what was going on around him.

 

London was in ruins, which was more than he could say for a lot of other places on Earth, the Reapers destroyed and gone, their massive, mechanic carcasses lying wasted on the skeletons of catalysed buildings.

 

Slowly, it was being rebuilt, and, slowly, Shepard was waking up.

 

The beeping of a heart-rate monitor nearby was what roused him, that time, dry and cracked lips parting in a weak groan as he tipped his head back against the stiff pillow. The scent of antiseptic and lingering dust and gunpowder filled his nose, body still unconscious. It took all kinds of will for him to open his eyes, instantly recoiling with a barely audible hiss as the filtering light met with his pin-prick pupils.

 

He lay still for a moment, battling with his groggy head to stay awake, this time, before he deliberately lifted his lids, getting used to the lights.

 

His everything hurt, every stretch of flesh moaning painfully, trying to pull him under again, trying to tell him that he wasn’t ready to wake up. But there was no way he was going to be staying dormant any longer, not without knowing what was going on with the world and with everything - even then he still probably wouldn’t.

 

Next, he tried to dig his elbow into the hard mattress he was on. Tendons felt like rust as they slid over his slowly atrophying muscles from disuse, Shepard taking a soft breath in, pacing himself. He didn’t know what happened, but he felt like _shit_ , cramps already beginning to rear their ugly heads in his limbs as blood flow began to pick up.

 

It took him, maybe, five minutes to lopsidedly prop himself up on the bed, the apparatuses attached to the creases of his elbows and one on his left middle finger twitching as he moved. He ducked his head, catching his breath from what would seem like a simple action, but was much more straining, to him, then. Breath whistled down his dry throat, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again to the rough bandages that wrapped around his chest, some of the swathes showing underlining red.

 

His skin was bruised, patches of dark blood showing beneath his skin, showing beneath cracks of amber, his cybernetics bleeding through. Those were the least of his worries, however, lifting his head, again, looking around the room. It... looked like a hospital room. But…

 

Shepard shook his head roughly. A mistake. He lifted his right hand, tightly gripping his throbbing temple, or at least tried so. When no somewhat soothing feeling came, he cracked his eyes open again, looking down at his arm that lay next to him. There was no sensation. It looked like his arm, albeit much too clean looking and bare of any scars to be his own. And above all, he couldn’t move it.

 

Quickly, he shrugged that off; again, it wasn’t high on his priorities. He _needed_ to know what was going on, or, at least, find someone else, because, from where he was sitting, he was alone.

 

Taking another deep breath in, Shepard awkwardly wretched the tubes and needles from his body, the machines around him beeping a bit louder in protest, the sound ringing in his ears. He didn’t care. He could breathe on his own and that’s what mattered, so far. The snakes of plastic lay over the edge of the bed, lifting his working arm to pull the covers off of his legs and stomach.

 

…He was a bit worse for wear, more bruises and scabs and cybernetic scars laying over his skin, but he was at least in once piece. Gripping the side of the bed, he strained, pushing himself over a bit, legs sluggishly learning how to move, again, and dropping over the other side of the cot. His right arm dragged along as he leant over, few bruised and fractured ribs whining at him, flexing out his tense back.

 

Shepard could hear soft voices from outside of his room, the door open, adjusted, but still tired, eyes lifting to the arch way. The walls around him were chipped and cracked, flora growing through - it was a surprise the building was even staying upright. Trying to take another breath, he immediately coughed it out, lurching over as a fine, green film was forced from his throat, dripping to the floor. It tasted foul, some kind of sustaining biofilm, to keep his insides clean and free from infection. Gritting his teeth, he shook it off, softer, this time, and pressed his knuckles into the covers, tensing and lifting himself up, the cold tile beneath his feet feeling weird beneath his soles.

 

And the Commander had found he hadn’t been this weak, before, the act of climbing from a bed being akin to shoving tons of crushed rubble off one’s broken self. His breath out was choppy, mixed with grunts of pain and slight frustration. He eventually made it up, muscles trembling, his whole body shaking.

 

He levelled himself, weighing up his centre of gravity before he took a calculated step. Much to his content, he didn’t trip up or fall, knowing very well in his state that if he happened to, he probably wouldn’t be getting back up, any time soon. His body was growling with every step he took towards the door, bones cracking together, feeling dusty and corroded.

 

By the time he got to the doorway, however, it seemed to be his limit, slumping against the hinges, gasping for breath. Shepard could only barely hear the suddenly urgent voices calling his name, the rushing footsteps coming over to him. He glanced up just in time to see a small Asari girl make a beeline towards him, trying to lift his right arm before he remembered that it was currently out of commission and lifting his other to stop her, the tendons in his throat sticking out.

 

“ _Shepard_ \--!” She began before he more pointedly shoved his hand in her face, suitably shut up, worried eyes growing large. John sucked in a breath, eyes narrowed at her, before he spoke:

 

“…Where... am I…?” His voice was rough, too rough for it to sound like his own.

 

“Shepard, you’re in a salvaged hospital. In London.” A more masculine voice said to him, the Commander sluggishly turning his head to look to the human doctor who had joined the Asari, equally concerned look on his face.

 

Okay. That would take some time to elaborate upon, but he could take that answer, for now. “And…” Shepard continued, “…What happened…?” He needed to know, each, new, ragged breath he took counting on it.

 

“John Shepard… You are the saviour of the Galaxy,”

 

Now, it took a lot to knock Shepard on his ass, but those few words seemed to take the cake, mind blotting out, feeling hands grabbing at his collapsing body before he blacked out again.  

**Author's Note:**

> ((This /was/ a starting post to an RP I have going with a friend, but I liked it too much ~))


End file.
